Enter Intruder, in Balloon
by The Undying Mongoose
Summary: Ambrose's view of the day Ahamo arrived in the O.Z.


Enter Intruder, in Balloon

"Your Majesty, can I get you anything?" She had to be warm in that gown, Ambrose worried. She should have worn something more appropriate for summer. "Perhaps a cool drink?"

The queen laughed. It was a beautiful sound, one she didn't make nearly often enough. "I'm quite all right, Ambrose. You worry too much."

He did worry too much. About his inventions, about the Zone's politics, but most especially about _her_. Ambrose wondered what she would think if he were to tell her why he worried so much, how his heart went cold whenever he thought about something happening to her. It was the worst thing he could imagine. So perhaps he did take the dangers of the summer sun a little too seriously. It was worth it, to know that nothing could ever happen to her as long as he was around.

"Sit down, Ambrose."

There was only one chair by the lake, so Ambrose sat in the grass. He rather liked grass, not for any real reason but just because it was there. He stared up at the queen, wondering how long he could gaze at those lavender eyes before she noticed that he was acting like a lovestruck puppy. (Did puppies actually get lovestruck? That could be the start of an experiment there: the hormonal reactions of adolescent dogs.) She wasn't looking at him; her attention was absorbed by the drifting clouds that floated in front of the suns. She would do that sometimes, stare at the clouds as if they held all the mysteries of the universe.

Ambrose fiddled with some grass, twirling it between his fingers. The grass that grew in Finaqua was always soft and sweet (not that he ate it, of course), not like the coarse stuff that grew near Central City. They needed to come here more often. It was so peaceful, and the queen was always so much more relaxed and happy. And nothing mattered more to Ambrose than making the queen happy.

"What's that?"

Ambrose turned to look where she was pointing. A speck was growing in the sky, a round shape with a bump underneath it. Ambrose leapt to his feet to be between the thing and the seated queen. As it grew closer, he could that the bump was a basket, and a person was standing in it. "Stay back, your Majesty," he whispered over his shoulder. "It might be dangerous."

The round thing proved to be a balloon, the air inside it heated by a flame beneath it. It was a rather ingenious design, Ambrose thought to himself, a very intriguing invention. If the pilot wasn't hostile, perhaps Ambrose might have a chance to examine it. The man within the basket was young, perhaps the queen's age, with a mess of unruly blond hair and an outlandish costume, the sort of clothes one saw on showmen in Central City.

"Hello there!" the man called out as his balloon touched the ground near the lake. "Would one a you folks be so kind as to tell me where I am?"

"You're in the O.Z.," Ambrose told him. "The Outer Zone. Er, my name is Ambrose, and this is her Majesty, Queen—"

The strange man wasn't listening to him. He had caught sight of the queen behind Ambrose, and his face had acquired a look Ambrose knew only too well. It was the same expression that Ambrose himself wore whenever he met the queen's lavender eyes.

"Afternoon, ma'am," the stranger said, taking off his peculiar hat. The queen stood up, and despite Ambrose's protests, went over to the balloon.

"Your Majesty, I really don't think you should—" It was an exercise in futility. She'd started talking with the man, asking him about where he'd come from and how he'd arrived in the O.Z., and there really was no arguing with the queen when she'd decided to do something. Ambrose stood behind the queen, ready to pull her out of the way at the first hint of danger.

The stranger said something, and the queen laughed. Ambrose's heart leapt to hear the beautiful sound again, then sank at the thought of someone _else_ causing it. _He_ was the best one at making her laugh. _Him!_ Not some balloon-riding stranger with his foreign accent and ridiculous clothes. The queen's hair had started to fall out of place, and the stranger pushed some of it back behind her ear. He was _touching_ her. He was touching her and looking at her lovely eyes with an audacity Ambrose would never have dared. Ambrose couldn't keep watching them. He looked downward and started kicking at the grass.

"Ambrose."

Ambrose looked up. The queen was smiling, and she was holding the stranger's hand. "Ambrose, this is Ahamo." The man muttered something about it being his home, not his name, but Ambrose wasn't listening to him. He was focusing on their joined hands, and how much he wished he could touch her like that. "He comes from a land very far from here, and he will be staying here for a while."

Ahamo extended his free hand. Ambrose shook it, for the queen's sake, and followed it with a curt bow. "A pleasure to meet you, sir."

"Pleasure's all mine." He wasn't looking at Ambrose when he said it. He was staring at the queen, and if puppies did indeed get lovestruck, the two of them looked as such puppies would.

Ambrose forced himself to smile, while inside he felt sick. For years he'd served the queen, advising her with all the wisdom he had, ready to obey her every whim. For years he'd loved her from a distance, too keenly aware of decorum to get too close. And in a few moments, this _intruder_ was able to do what Ambrose could not.

It wasn't fair.


End file.
